


That's Not Supposed to Happen

by onward_came_the_meteors



Series: October 2020 Prompts [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt Bruce Banner, Kidnapping, One Shot, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Third Person, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Natasha Romanov, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors
Summary: When the team is captured and facing down the barrel of a gun, having a teammate who's immune to bullets can come in handy.Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be Bruce's day.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanov
Series: October 2020 Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947679
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	That's Not Supposed to Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2, for the prompt: "pick who dies."

_ Maybe Stark had a point about making that tally chart of kidnap attempts, _ Natasha thought to herself as she squeezed through yet another tight spot in the air vents, careful not to hit her head on the hard metal.  _ We certainly wouldn’t have a problem filling it up. _

Their latest call to assemble had happened in the early hours of the morning, when she and her teammates had rolled out of bed and into their suits to go fight off whatever supervillain was wreaking havoc this time—it turned out to be killer robots,  _ again _ —and although it had started out fairly normally—with Thor and Iron Man blasting lightning and repulsor beams, the Hulk slamming several robots into a building, her and Hawkeye managing to shut off the main control switch and sending all the robots dropping lifelessly to the ground—there had barely been a second to recover before Steve’s coms had crackled with a “Hey, what is—” and he went silent. Natasha and the others had tried to reach him about twenty times before actual worry set in and she had started making her way toward the place where she’d last seen a blur of red, white, and blue… and that was approximately when a strange fog from the cracked-open robot helmets had seeped into the air and she felt herself hitting the pavement, everything going dark.

She’d woken up a few…  _ hours? _ A few hours later, stuffed into some cramped warehouse-type basement by someone who apparently didn’t take too kindly to having his robotics experiment trashed by a group of superheroes. Fortunately, this particular enemy didn’t seem to be the brightest they’d ever dealt with, as they hadn’t even bothered tying her up, and while they had stripped her of weapons (and her earpiece—Tony was gonna be pissed) they hadn’t thought to check for anything she could use to pick a lock, and she was out of her cell in about nine minutes flat. It would’ve been sooner, except she was still moving slowly from the effects of that fog.

At least her teammates’ cells were all located across the hall from hers, which cut down their escape time significantly.

She’d found Clint first, then Bruce—who was back to normal size and had thankfully managed to keep a few shreds of clothing together—and finally Steve, who was in worse shape than the rest of them, since apparently their captors had assumed Captain America was the biggest threat, but he could at least stand and walk with Natasha’s help.

They didn’t know where Thor or Tony were, but since the basement had no signs of  _ complete and utter destruction _ , it was probably safe to assume they hadn’t been captured. Lucky.

But there hadn’t been much time for discussion—they didn’t know how long their captors would leave them alone, and they couldn’t afford to waste time with an injured teammate. 

So it was up into the ventilation system they went, and Natasha was just hoping that Steve wouldn’t pass out and fall through the ceiling before they made it outside.

“Watch out, there’s a grate,” Bruce said from behind her, careful to keep his voice low.

Natasha glanced down and shifted her hands to the edges of the vents, lifting her entire body as far up as it would go to avoid setting her weight on the potential pitfall. “Got it. We’re turning left up here, so just tell Steve—”

“Are you guys talking?” That was Clint, all the way in the back behind a very-slow-moving Steve Rogers who looked like it was taking all of his serum-enhanced strength to keep crawling forward. “What?”

“Quiet,” Natasha hissed. Clint’s voice was more distorted than normal, the volume fluctuating ever-so-slightly up and down. It wasn’t his fault—their captors had evidently mistaken his hearing aids for communication devices and confiscated them along with their other tech, and signing was hard when wriggling on one’s stomach through an air vent. 

_ Point to them, I suppose. _

“Sorry,” Clint mouthed. Natasha nodded at him and turned back around, continuing to edge forward. They’d dealt with situations like this before on many a mission and come out on top—even if it sometimes required a very hasty extraction—but the equation changed when an exhausted post-Hulk scientist and a super soldier who definitely needed some kind of medical attention were added to the mix.

_ And two of our resident heavy hitters are absent. Where— _

Natasha didn’t get to finish the thought before she placed her hand on another section of the vent and the entire thing collapsed underneath her.

Only her training kept her from crying out as she found herself falling through empty air—

—and falling—

—and then the floor came flying up and  _ SLAM. _

Natasha lay there for a moment, catching her breath and letting the stars blink out of her vision before she tried to sit up. The other three were sprawled around her in various states of groaning, swearing, and gasping, and Steve might have passed out all the way—nope, he was opening his eyes, even as blood from the gash on his forehead dripped into them.

“Is everybody—” she started, but then her eyes caught up with the rest of her brain, and she noticed a few key details about their new surroundings.

First, this room was a lot more reinforced than any of their cells had been.

Second, the door was on the opposite wall, and heavily bolted.

And third, someone was standing in the shadows in front of the door, just out of reach of the pool of light spilling from the single ceiling bulb.

“You didn’t really think we’d make it that easy, did you, Agent Romanoff?” A man’s voice, familiar not in that she knew him, but in that it held the same coolly confident tone as every other person who thought they could capture the Black Widow and survive.

So she tilted her head and gave him the answer they expected. “No, but I can handle a challenge.”

A low laugh. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, but are you sure that your friends can?”

Natasha’s reply died in her throat as she looked down at Clint, who was half-crouched and staring wildly around; Bruce, who was shakily pushing himself into a sitting position; and Steve, who was limp and still bleeding. No, she wasn’t sure at all, but like hell she would reveal that to an enemy.

The man didn’t let her answer before he continued—these types always liked to hear themselves talk. “Perhaps I was too quick to judge—the four of you did manage to escape your cells, after all.”

“You’ve got shit security,” Natasha said, ignoring Bruce on her left shaking his head frantically. “Maybe spend more on that and less on the evil robots next time.”

“I figured you’d have that attitude. Fortunately, I know how to fix that.”

A flash of movement and a glint of metal in the shadows, and Natasha found herself staring up at the barrel of some fancy high-tech weapon that Tony would probably have a name for, but at the end of the day was still a gun.

Slowly, she raised her hands up, palms facing outward.

The man made an amused sound. “I already took away all of your weapons, Agent.” The word was thick with sarcasm. “No, the only threat in this room is the one in my hands. See, I don’t like it when people try to escape, but because I’m feeling generous today, I’ll let you pick.”

Natasha stared at the door behind him; locked, bolted, and out of reach. “Pick what?”

“Pick which of you four I shoot.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“In that case, I’m happy to shoot you all—it really doesn’t matter to me, but I did think even the famous Black Widow would have  _ some  _ affection for her friends.”

“Friends, coworkers, whatever.” Natasha had kept a casual tone in far worse dangers than this; it didn’t falter now. “I think if you were planning to kill us, you’d have done it al—”

_ Bang. _

Her ears took a full five seconds to stop ringing. When they did, she turned her head to see a burnt black hole barely a foot away from Steve’s head.

Steve’s eyes flickered at the noise, but then fell shut again. Clint shifted so that he was in between Steve and the man with the gun—he didn’t need his hearing to figure out that much.

“Pick one,” the man repeated. “Or else the next shot won’t be a warning.”

Natasha let out a breath. Her heart was pounding. If she had been alone, she could get out of this, but there was no way she’d be able to get close enough to disarm the man before he could shoot Steve or Bruce—Clint could probably dodge it, at least under normal circumstances, but hesitancy crept into her thoughts as she remembered how they’d all been rendered unconscious by mysterious fog and fallen through the ceiling onto a hard floor, plus whatever injuries they were already dealing with from the fight earlier.

They were backed into a corner, and Natasha didn’t like any of the ways out.

“I should add that you don’t have unlimited time,” the man spoke up. The gun didn’t move from her face. “Much as I’d enjoy standing here all day, I did make the terms clear: choose one of them, or I shoot you all.”

“You can try,” Natasha said fiercely, because really, what else did she have left?

The man shrugged. “Fine. You first.” There was a click, and Natasha tensed, ready to dive out of the way—

—and then Bruce was in front of her, holding up his hands, and Natasha froze because  _ that wasn’t supposed to happen _ , and Clint’s eyes were widening… and the gun lowered.

“Bruce—” Natasha hissed. She wasn’t above shoving him if she had to, but he wasn’t Tony, after all, there surely had to be some shred of basic self-preservation in there—

“Wait,” Bruce said, which was pretty unnecessary as everyone in the room was already waiting, waiting and staring at him, and for an understandable reason. “Wait. Don’t. If you’re going to shoot someone, shoot me.”

“Bruce, what the  _ fuck _ —” Apparently there was enough light in the room for Clint to read his lips.

“I know what I’m doing,” Bruce said under his breath. Natasha didn’t answer, because she was remembering what happened the last time someone had pointed a gun at Bruce Banner—for one thing, it had been her finger on the trigger. And the time before that, based on his story back on the helicarrier… 

_ Well, it’s a hell of an escape plan, I can’t deny that. _

Bruce waited, holding his breath as though he hadn’t quite come up with a Plan B yet, but if their captor knew who he was talking to, he didn’t show it.

“Avengers. Always with their little sacrifices.”

“It won’t kill me.” Bruce hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d gotten in front of Natasha. “So go ahead.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Another click.

A second  _ bang  _ echoed like a crack of thunder through the dim room, only this time it was followed by a sharp cry of pain.

Natasha winced, but kept still. Any second now…

But…

_ Wait. _

“He’s not transforming,” came Clint’s voice as though from a distance. “Why isn’t he… ?”

Natasha didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because she was whirling around to where Bruce, curled up and on the floor and still very, very much human, was clutching his hand around the side of his chest—a hand that was now rapidly staining red.

“Oh,” he said, and listed sideways.

Natasha slid forward and caught him, propping his head up against her shoulder. She cast a quick look up at their captor, but he had lowered the gun the slightest amount, a smirk on his face as he watched.  _ Screw him, seriously. _

“Why aren’t you transforming?” she demanded, trying to move Bruce’s hand away so that she could see the injury that was still gushing blood like a leaky faucet.

Bruce blinked up at her. “... dunno.” He blinked again, and this time his eyes were green. “Oh. Natasha—” He was cut off as a shudder went through his body.

She froze as she felt muscles starting to bulge against her shoulder and saw the green beginning to creep over his exposed skin—which was more than usual, as the Hulk had left him with about seventy-five percent of a pair of pants after that morning’s fight—before Bruce suddenly exhaled and it all shrank away again.

“Don’t know why—can’t—” He gasped and pressed his hand closer to the wound in the side of his chest. His breathing was ragged. “Ah, that hurts—”

Some of the blood was slowly beading and dripping onto the floor, and Natasha belatedly remembered something Bruce had told her in the quinjet and angled herself so none of it would fall on her. Not that that would do much, but radiation poisoning was the last thing she needed today.

She was trained—so was Clint, so were all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, especially those who spent as much time in the field as they did—in basic skills that could be used as a bandage until the actual medical team showed up, but Bruce wasn’t exactly every other patient and despite her attempts to force it aside, she still… still would prefer not to spend more time around his larger and greener half than she had to.

And as Bruce’s body seemed confused about whether or not it was going to transform, it was probably best to err on the side of caution.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of green washed over his skin, his hands balling into fists that seemed to double in size before something caught and his wound pumped with a fresh rush of blood. Whether intentionally or not, his head tipped back so that it hit against Natasha’s shoulder and he groaned aloud.

_ These half-transformations are hurting him more _ , Natasha realized.  _ But I don’t know if he can change fully right now… or if he even wants to, with all of us stuck in this tight space. _

Bruce’s eyes were open again, and as far as she could tell, still brown, but tight with pain. “See… that wasn’t so hard.” Before Natasha could react, his eyes had slipped shut and he went slack in her arms.

Their captor laughed from the front of the room. “And so the mighty Avengers have fallen.” He started to raise the gun again, and Natasha felt a flash of fury that would’ve had the man on the ground right at that second if her arms hadn’t been full of an unconscious Bruce Banner.

It was just then that she heard it. Faint, in the distance, but definitely there.

A smile spread over her face.

“You’re forgetting something,” she said, nodding surreptitiously to Clint, who gave Steve’s shoulder a shake.

“And what might that be?”

Natasha’s smile grew into a full-on smirk as the distant sound got louder, loud enough to make their captor drop his gun, to make Bruce and Steve stir, to make Clint feel the vibrations through the floor. “There are six Avengers.”

The wall exploded, and Iron Man and Thor burst inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
